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Ask THEM. I'm not picking out gun sites for the Germans; I'm picking out positions of defense for Americans when the Germans come!" Van Vorst laughed derisively. "My word!" he exclaimed. "You're as bad as Jimmie!" Captain McCoy regarded him with disfavor. "And you, sir," he retorted, "are as bad as ninety million other Americans. You WON'T believe!
Remember the scouts' motto, 'Be prepared!" That night as the scouts walked home, behind each wall and hayrick they saw spiked helmets. Young Van Vorst was extremely annoyed. "Next time you talk to my scouts," he declared, "you'll talk on 'Votes for Women. After what you said to-night every real-estate agent who dares open a map will be arrested.
We're not trying to drive people away from Westchester, we're trying to sell them building sites." "YOU are not!" retorted his friend, "you own half the county now, and you're trying to buy the other half." "I'm a justice of the peace," explained Van Vorst. "I don't know WHY I am, except that they wished it on me. All I get out of it is trouble.
Van Vorst, a person of the same name, in 1769, owned Pawles Hook, and a large farm at Pavonia, and is a lineal descendant from Van Vorst." So called from the Navesink tribe of Indians that inhabited these parts. At present they are erroneously denominated the Neversink, or Neversunk, mountains. Since corrupted into the Wallabout, the bay where the navy-yard is situated. Now spelt Brooklyn.
When Captain McCoy had driven away, and his own car and the golf clubs had again been brought to the steps, Judge Van Vorst once more attempted to depart; but he was again delayed. Other visitors were arriving. Up the driveway a touring-car approached, and though it limped on a flat tire, it approached at reckless speed.
"A gray touring-car," he shouted. "It stopped here. We saw it from that hill. Then the damn tire burst, and we lost our way. Where did he go?" "Who?" demanded Van Vorst, stiffly, "Captain McCoy?" The man exploded with an oath. The driver with a shove of his elbow, silenced him. "Yes, Captain McCoy," assented the driver eagerly. "Which way did he go?" "To New York," said Van Vorst.
"Is he dead?" "I don't know off he ish tet. Dey say he ish oud mid his het, und tat looksh mighty pad. But one ting ish goot; dey cotch de murterer." "They have?" asked Offitt, with languid interest. "What sort of fellow is he?" "Mutter Gottes!" said the little German. "De vorst kind. He would radder gill a man as drink a glass bier.
Felix Pinner, July 20, 1918. Cf. Bonsoir, July 29, 1919. The price was not fixed, but the minimum was specified. It was one hundred thousand kronen. Cf. Der Tag, Vienna, August 13, 1919. L'Echo de Paris, August 15, 1919. By Dr. F. Pinner, H. Vorst, and others. The condemned man is tied to a post or a cross, his mouth gagged, and the execution is made to last several hours.
The driver shrieked at his companion. "Then, he's doubled back," he cried. "He's gone to New Haven." He stooped and threw in the clutch. The car lurched forward. A cold terror swept young Van Vorst. "What do you want with him?" he called "Who are you?" Over one shoulder the masked face glared at him. Above the roar of the car the words of the driver were flung back.
The mob had done its work and was scattering, and Catherine Van Vorst, still watching, could see the man she had known as Freddie Drummond. He towered a head above the crowd. His arm was still about the woman. And she in the motor-car, watching, saw the pair cross Market Street, cross the Slot, and disappear down Third Street into the labour ghetto.
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